


Artist in Residence

by Winterstar



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artist Steve Rogers, Fluff, M/M, non-powered, wealthy Thor Odinson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 06:11:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18204566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar
Summary: Thor seeks refuge in what he thinks is a cafe from the thunderstorm. Instead he meets an artist and he learns a few lessons about life.





	Artist in Residence

The first thing Thor notices when he ducks into the narrow doorway to get out of the thunderstorm is the man standing in the middle of the paint stained floor in bare feet. The flash of lightning should startle him but the man in the torn jeans and T-shirt two sizes too small draws all of Thor’s attention. The paint stains the T-shirt. It has a gaping hole on one side, large enough that the man’s waist is visible. There’s something slightly perverse about it and Thor swallows down something that heats his gut and riles up his stagnant heart. 

“Can I help you?”

Thor pauses before he answers. The man gives him a half smile as he works a rag to clean painted fingers. The bare feet, the torn shirt, and the long graceful fingers captures Thor. It takes him a few seconds to gather his thoughts. “I – mm- I -.” He points behind him. “It’s raining.”

The man glances at the window and then back at Thor. “Yes. I see.”

Thor wipes away the droplets of rain clinging to his hair. “I’m sorry. I thought this was a store or coffee shop.” It’s so obvious it’s not that the heat of embarrassment warms his face. He looks at the canvas leaning against the wall. It’s nearly as wide as the wall and reaches within a meter of the ceiling. Next to the huge canvas a table with paint cans and various brushes sits. Across from the paint supplies what looks like a makeshift bedroom slash kitchen takes up the rest of the room. 

“You’re not wrong,” the artist says and reaches out a hand. “Steve, Steve Rogers.”

Thor accepts the artist’s hand, feels the strong grip and meets the crystalline blue eyes. Before he can offer his name, Steve frowns and lets go. He steps back. 

“You’re from the building management, aren’t you?” He sighs and throws his hands up as if in surrender. “Look. Don’t call the police.”

“Police?” Thor scans his surroundings again. He sees the small dormitory sized fridge on top of which a microwave sits and on top of that a two burner hot plate. When his gaze wanders down, through the shared wall with the building next door. He’s stealing electricity from the uptown bistro next door. Thor sees the drawn broken blinds. 

“Yeah. Please I can get out of here.” He points to the futon that’s in the bed position. It looks messed as if he’d only gotten up because of an inspiration. Theinspiration is on the canvas. The huge canvas adorning the one wall. “I can call my friend Sam. He’s got a cousin who has a moving truck. I can get everything out in a day.”

“You do not belong here. This is not your store.” Thor cringed. He realizes how stilted and idiotic his words sound, but he’s still catching up with what’s going on. He’d left his meeting, angry, frustrated with his father and the rest of his family. They wanted something he refused. He needed fresh air but ended up in a storm. 

“What tipped you off?” Steve says and walks to the window. He pulls a cardboard makeshift sign from the sill. It rattles the blinds. The sign says ‘artist in residence’. “Fooled everyone else in the neighborhood. They even thought old Schmidt grown a heart or something. But heck, I can be gone in a day.”

“Where will you go?” Thor has absolutely no rationale for asking. His brain is letting go of the confrontation he escaped and he’s slowly getting up to speed in his new environment. And that’s what it seems like. A whole new environment like he stepped into a new life. 

“Why? Are you going to send the police after me there?” Steve tosses the sign in a pile and then goes to the table with all the paint cans and brushes. He starts closing the cans and gathering the brushes. “Like I said. I can get out of here in a day. No harm no foul. Right?” He turns back to Thor. “Come on, can you give a starving artist a break?”

“Starving artist,” Thor murmurs and stares at the canvas. “Tell me about this one. Is it a fantasy? Your bedmate?” He gestures to the futon where he can make out the distinct impression of two bodies. 

“Bedmate?” Steve screws up his face and glances over at the bed. “Oh, you mean Bucky.” He gives a little laugh and shakes his head. “No. Bucky isn’t.” He stops and then starts again. “Well, technically sure we share a bed, but we’re not like that. That, you know.” He waves his hands around and grimaces. 

“You mean gay?” Thor raises a brow. He stalks forward to the canvas. “You are not gay.” He steams a little inside. He hates prejudice. Maybe he will turn this coward into the police. 

“What? No. That’s not what I mean. I mean Bucky and I are not a couple.” He runs a hand through his hair, streaking it with blue paint. “God, just let me call my friend and I’ll be gone by morning.”

“This painting. Who is it?”

“Mister, I don’t know who you are or why you care about my sleeping arrangements or my painting but I’m not going to play nice just so you can stall for the police.” He goes over and picks up a milk crate. Placing it on the table, Steve stacks the paint cans in the crate. 

“I am not calling the police. I have no interest in turning you in for squatting here.” Thor watches the man as he collects the brushes and ties them off with a rubber band. “I am very interested in your painting. Maybe I heard about the artist in residence.” This is lie and a not very good one especially considering how he first entered the storefront, but it works and Steve pauses.

“Really? You’re interested in my painting? My art?” Steve says. His eyes are incredulous and his mouth gapes open, just slightly and Thor glimpses a bit of saliva wicking his lips, glistening. 

“Hmm? Yes, yes, I am.” Thor smiles, trying to save himself from further embarrassment. He points to the large painting again. “Who is this? This broken man.”

Steve places his brushes in the milk crate and turns to the wall sized canvas. The painting is incomplete, but the bold strokes and color belie the subject. It’s a juxtaposition of character and creation. A man of war but with no weapon only a shield against a barrage of fire. The shield drips down with blood and the soldier fades into the distance, the figure insubstantial and light.

Steve shakes his head. “It’s no one, and every one, I think. I look at it as a symbol of our times. We don’t have much to protect us against what’s happening in the world today. Maybe we have a little of our own wisdom and hopes and dreams.” He laughs a little. “Like the American dream.” The shield is red, white, and blue. “But that’s not true anymore, is it? So, I wanted to symbolize that with the shield and the attack but the person fading away because there’s no way to stand against it all. Is there?”

Thor stands and gazes at the painting after listening to the words, taking in the effect as it chills him to his bones. Distractedly, he asks, “Do you have others?”

“Others?” Steve clears his throat and wipes a hand through his hair. “Yeah, in the back. Lots of others. Kind of hard to break into the different galleries and get a professional showing, though.” He gestures to the backroom and Thor follows him.

It might be a foolish thing. The stranger could be ushering him into the backroom to be mugged, assaulted, or worse. But then again, Thor has at least 30 pounds on the man and packs quite a bit of muscle as well. Steve doesn’t notice even the second of hesitation before he opens the door. It creaks.

“Oh, wait!” Steve says and goes to the storefront door. He closes the lock. “Sorry I just don’t want my stuff getting stolen. I can’t afford the paints as it is.”

It should set off alarm bells, but Thor follows, mesmerized by the artist. Steve slips by Thor and flicks on the lamp in the backroom. Canvas upon canvas prop up against the walls. Some of the canvases are blank, but most are covered with figures, and landscapes, and still life that all tell a story and Thor wants to know each and every one. 

He cannot stop his exclamation. “Wow!”

“Yeah, a lot. A ton of shit. I mean it must be shit, considering I can’t sell any of them,” Steve says. 

“No. Not shit at all.” Thor points to one of the paintings. “Tell me about this one.”

Over the next few hours Thor finds himself drawn into a new world of understanding with this artist by his side. With every question he asks, Thor steps further and further away from the hectic business world he escaped and closer to ground like lightning finding its way to Earth. Steve tells him stories of inspiration, offers him cookies from a tin that used to be his mother’s before her passing. They have tea and discuss the paintings as if they are intimate friends. 

Eventually they are sitting on the small futon, tea mugs in hand and cookies in the tin between them. Thor confesses as he dips his cookie into the milky tea and eats it. “I’ve always loved the arts. My brother is the more artistic one. There was never time for me to learn. But I have admired it from afar.”

“Is there a specific type of art? Visual? Sculpture? Music?” Steve asks as he munches on his cookie.

“I love the visual, but sculpture. To do something with my hands,” he says as he flexes his free hand. “To chisel out marble, hit it with a hammer and create something no one saw in the rock. My friend Heimdall would love it. He can see far and wide.”

“And why don’t you try your hand at it, then?” 

When Steve asks the question, the avalanche of responsibilities spills over Thor. It curves his back and he sighs, involuntarily. “I am not a free man. Not as you understand it. My family – my father expects things of me. I have many different responsibilities. People depend on me.”

“People depend on art to tell them why it’s all worth it,” Steve says. He puts his tea mug on the side table along with the cookie he hasn’t quite finished, then he turns to Thor. He takes the mug from Thor and places them beside his own on the table. He grasps Thor’s hands. “There’s nothing these hands cannot do. Art is seeing. Seeing is art. That’s all there is. It is a pursuit of truth and understanding in the world. Those responsibilities? They will consume you and you won’t be able to fulfill them unless you are able to understand them. Art helps that – art defines the world.”

“You speak of fairy tales and fantasies,” Thor whispers. It isn’t an accusation or an insult but more of a revelation. He stares out beyond the blinds of the windows, sees the rain as it spatters and listens to the roll of thunder. He drops his gaze and looks at Steve’s hands holding his own. “I never have the time to appreciate the truly magnificent things in life. That’s not how it works for me.”

“It should,” Steve returns and that draws Thor’s gaze upward to his face. “I’m poor. Poorer than dirt as Buck would say, but I find the time every day to look beyond what’s horrible and suffering in this world to find something good and precious. I believe in people, that they’re innately good and that there are paths to find that will lead us all to a safer and more beautiful world.”

Maybe Thor had walked into a fantasy, maybe a different realm like the ones his mother used to tell him in stories as a boy, but maybe this is real. He tightens his grip on Steve’s hand, wanting to know this is real, needing a validation. Steve doesn’t draw away, in fact he seems to lean forward, lean closer to Thor. Without thinking, Thor presses forward, touches his lips tentatively on Steve’s mouth and then waits, waits to see if he’s read the whole thing wrong. 

But he hasn’t.

Steve accepts his kiss, gentle and uncertain as it is. He slips his hands away from Thor but then cups Thor’s jaw as he explores his mouth. The slight moan, so light and so powerful at the same time, goes right to Thor’s groin and he can barely contain himself from ravaging the beauty in his arms. They tumble down to the futon’s cushion, Thor lying on top of Steve. The feel of Steve under him sends ripples of desire through Thor. He nudges at Steve’s neck, kissing and licking, testing to see if he’s welcome. As if in response, Steve swings a leg over Thor’s thigh and slides a hand to the back of his head, encouraging him. 

Thor ignores the fact that he’s in a good suit, a suit that cost over what his lover probably makes in a year. He concentrates on the feel, the texture, the rumble of Steve’s chest as he groans against Thor’s ministrations. The touch of skin against skin is all Thor wants and he leans up and tears away at his jacket, tossing it to the floor and then quickly unbuttons his shirt, opening it and then staring down at Steve whose lips are bruised from kissing. Thor only wants more. He grips Steve’s t-shirt and tears it open with one yank. Steve moans and grows thick against Thor’s groin. 

Thor might have let out a hearty chuckle if he’d been somewhere else, with someone else, but when he looks down at Steve, what he sees takes his breath and steals his heart. The trust, the passion, the sheer urgency of Steve’s gaze throws Thor into a need so wanton and heavy that he can no longer deny himself. He attacks Steve’s mouth with a hungry want. Pulling and tugging at the rest of their clothes as he does- shedding them as they roll across the confining bed. Before he knows it, Thor has his hands on every part of Steve’s naked body, the contours and plains of his body are Thor’s to enjoy, his to taste, his to possess. Steve affords himself of the same, exploring Thor’s flesh with a passion that kindles a fire in his belly. Thor swears that Steve wants to consume him, devour him, own him as much as Thor wants to claim him. 

Thor kisses and nips as he follows the line of muscles down Steve’s abdomen, down to his growing erection. Steve shivers under his touch. He’s so sensitive, so very needy that Thor wants to draw it out, wants to make Steve beg. He imagines how it would be to have Steve pleading with him, begging him, asking for more. And that’s just what he gets as Steve cries out.

“Please. Oh God. Please, please! Touch me,” Steve says and then devolves to wordless moaning as Thor takes his cock in his mouth. 

The bitterness of Steve’s pre-come hits Thor’s tongue and a guttural gasp escapes him. Steve shudders in response. The tang of Steve coils deep into Thor’s core and he wants more, he yearns for more. Like a starving man, he suckles on Steve until his lover thrashes against him, begging him for more but also telling him to not let him come.

“More. God, more.” Steve throws his head to the side. “Don’t wanna come.” He cries out, sobbing. “More. God – don’t let me come.” He hisses as he tries to control himself, tensing against Thor.

Thor cannot help the smile that curls over his lips. Steve jerks once and Thor pulls away, letting the urgency fade and cool. Steve pants under his hands.

“Oh God,” Steve mumbles and blinks several times as if he tries to clear away tears.

Thor bends over him, touches his cheek to find a stray tear. “Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I’ll take good care of you.” He doesn’t allow Steve to respond, instead he covers his mouth with his own, working the kiss until they are both breathless yet denying their need for air. Thor thrusts against Steve’s leg. His own cock heavy with need, so sensitive to the touch that he thinks he may come with only a scrape of flesh against him. Steve breaks away from their kiss. 

“Drawer, under the bed. Lube, condoms.”

Thor pauses, but only for a moment. There’s no question that he wants this, he wants to fuck this god of a man, this artist who sees the truth in the world yet never loses his purpose. Yet he worries it is not fucking he wants, but oh so much more. Struggling away from the conflict within, Thor reaches and grabs the drawer pull. He finds the lube easily and the condom package. Sitting back, Thor looks down at his lover.

“You’re sure?” He never wants to hurt anyone. He always checks in with his lover. 

Steve nods. “Yes. Absolutely.” His lips quaver and then he says in an airy voice. “Fuck me.” 

It’s Thor’s turn to shudder. He reaches to get the condom, to get the lube but it’s Steve’s hand on the condom. “Let me.”

Thor sits back as Steve gets on his knees on the bed. He rips open the condom packet, but before he rolls it onto Thor, Steve leans down and licks from the base of Thor’s cock to the tip. It startles him and he lets out a small gulp and moan. Steve pushes him back and Thor falls to his back. Steve laps at Thor’s cock, worshipping it, and then licks at his balls. Thor grunts and bites at his lips, trying not to come. The purity of the thrill shoots through him, shocking him with pleasure. 

“Stop!” He forces himself to sit up. When Steve follows him, there’s a glint in his eyes, showing Thor how much Steve knows his play tortured him. Thor only smiles in response. He picks up the lube and shoves Steve onto the futon. “My turn.”

Steve grins and opens his legs. “Would you rather front or back?”

“This way is fine. I’d like to watch your submission to me,” Thor says.

Steve sighs long and heavily. Steve looks away from him, but with Thor’s insistent touch to his cheek, Steve turns back to him.

“Watch,” Thor commands. With the condom in place, Thor prepares Steve. He cringes upon first breaching with Thor’s lubed finger, but then with gentle persuasion eases into the feel of being touched, of being penetrated, of being spread open, wide and willing. His legs fall back from their tense bend and his softening erection thickens again. 

“Do you like?” Thor asks.

“Yes, yes.” Steve turns his head to the side, chewing at his bottom lip as his cock spurts pre come on his belly. “Oh God, yes.” 

Soon, Thor has three fingers in Steve and his lover rocks against him, groaning as he does, his face in a grimace of pleasure. He’s so hot and willing that Thor has to swallow back his appetite. He watches as his fingers disappear into Steve, as his cock bobs with want for touch. Steve grips the sheets of the bed holding back his climax as Thor teases him. 

“You want more? You want me?”

“Yes, please yes.” Steve cries in a small whimper. His body is so open. Thor wants to try another finger, wants to put his whole hand in him, wants to fist him and break him. “Please fuck me, please.”

With regret, Thor pulls out his fingers and adds more lube to his cock. He lines up and then slides in as if he was always meant to be in Steve. Steve shivers through the penetration. His eyes glaze over as he murmurs unintelligible words. 

A short rock and Steve cries out for more. Another thrust and Steve tries to rock his hips. Thor puts his hands on Steve, preventing him from movement of his own. Steve grunts his disapproval, but Thor shoves in hard. It sends both of them into a ragged fit of need. Thor starts a furious pace, hitting Steve deep. The quake and openness of his body, of his gaze as he looks up at Thor sends him over the edge. He thrusts without mercy. Steve has to push his one hand up against the wooden frame of the futon not to hit his head. Thor doesn’t stop. Steve urges him on, telling him harder, faster.

“Fuck me. Oh God. Harder, please God!” He clenches his teeth and muffles a scream of heated need.

A final thrust and the storm comes over Thor, like lightning paralyzing him. His mind whites out and he only vaguely hears Steve cry beneath him. The white light, the void of pleasure surrounds him and then finally drains away. He comes back to himself to find a puddle of come splattered over Steve’s abdomen, chest, and even his face. He lies almost lifeless beneath Thor.

Bending over, Thor licks at Steve’s come as he slowly and carefully pulls out. Steve offers a tiny whine of protest. They share long kisses after Thor licks up all of the mess. “I should wash you.”

Steve only kisses him again in reply. In a hoarse voice, he replies, “There’s no shower.” Thor kisses him again and they lie quietly.

The rain drizzles outside and the twilight fills the storefront as they doze. Eventually life comes back to Thor. “This has been lovely.”

“Yes,” Steve says but adds no more. He knows that Thor is saying goodbye, that this was just a fantasy of passion not meant for more.

Thor gets up; he starts to dress. Steve stays silent in the bed. Thor needs to get back to the meetings he abandoned hours ago. His father will be livid. His responsibilities lurk at every turn. He buttons his shirt and tucks it in. Then he toes on his shoes. He has no idea what happened to his socks. He finds his jacket and shrugs it on. Standing over the bed, he takes in the picture. The beauty of Steve, spent and blushed after their intimacy. 

“Thank you.”

Steve smiles. “Take care of yourself. Okay?”

“You, too.”

He walks to the door, but then stops before he departs. “Thor, my name is Thor Odinson. It was nice meeting you, Steve Rogers.”

Steve gets up on one elbow. “It was nice meeting you, too, Thor Odinson.”

He leaves, pausing shortly in the doorway, but then steps out into the evening. The air smells like a spring rain but the streets are vibrant and washed in the approaching night. Thor doesn’t go back the next day or the next. His life wraps him up so tightly he doesn’t have a chance to find his way to the small street with the storefront for the artist in residence. When he does happen to find time to slip away from the prison of his life again, Thor finds the storefront barren. He wonders if it was all just a dream or a wish as he stands there staring at the empty windows. The blinds are raised and there’s not a sign of Steve anywhere within the storefront. 

Thor should have expected it. It wasn’t like he’d given Steve any hope of seeing him again. He hadn’t even considered it. He never even exchanged his number with Steve. Only a name. He doesn’t turn around and leave right away. He stares into the empty room through the smudged windows. He could have lost himself in those blue crystal eyes forever. He could have seen the whole of the universe, could have conquered the world with that man by his side. It could have been so much more than be a one shot, a one night stand. His bones ache with his loss.

Thor turns away from the storefront, from his fantasy. Foolish. He was foolish to dream for more. He starts away from the store, ignoring the sounds of traffic, both the people and the vehicles around him until he hears a slight humph.

“Think you’d look where you were going.” Thor looks up to find Steve standing in front of him with the artist in residence sign. “Oh. Or were you looking for someone?”

Thor grins. “No.” He grabs Steve and embraces him. “No, because I already found him.”

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little diversion as I work on my other stories! Hope you liked it!


End file.
